Duet
by kinnoth
Summary: Aion character sketch, history lesson, lengthy drabble etc. Written because I was pissed at the end of this series. Warnings of slashy activities, metaphor overdoses, and semicolon abuse. Companion story to 'Anticlimatic'


(A/N: In case you didn't see it in the summary, I ONCE AGAIN WARN YOU OF: SLASH SLASH SLASH SLASH (not too graphic though; I don't usually do this stuff). I actually think this warning is necessary in this case because even though the world is chock full of yaoi-lovers, this fandom seems pretty clean of it. So once again, SLASHSLASHSLASH. And angst. Lots of it. Cuz angst is good.)

Enjoy

**Words**

Demons had always been fond of word games, but his little fixation was rather really quite strange. He loved them, and flaunted it, though rendered him unable to let himself witness anything without first attaching a description, or a word, to it.

Like the sight of a dream: inspiring, beautiful, precarious.

Light: searing, flickering, alive

Beauty.

But no, he never was content to simply see things.

He supposed it had something to do with the fact his eyes failed him at times, and he couldn't always rely on his spectacles to correct that failing. But sight was what had started it all, when he had _seen_ the glory of the Heavens reflected in the horror of the Pandemonium. He had seen it and loved it and wanted it. For he had seen freedom.

But the sight of freedom and glory alone wasn't all it was made out to be. No, how could one _see_ a concept so complex that a mind could only hold it, envelope it, or break completely? How could one see a passion so great that it transcended the boundary between...well, it was a passion right? He didn't like to trust his eyes, he didn't like to remember with them.

Feeling was good, though. The hot touch of his flaming home and the tantalizing cold of its distant mirror.

Sound was even better. The Apostle's screams and cries in, a terrible melody, perhaps, and the peals of his own laughter.

Smell..? Perhaps. Acrid burning flesh and thick sweetness of blood and the metallic _static_ of battle. He could smile at all of them, these memories that his various senses engrained in him.

But he was an honest man (demon, monster, Sinner, whatever suited the occasion) and being one, he would have to say that none of those above truly granted him true satisfaction. Taste it, something would always be hissing at him. Taste the power, flavor of Heaven, the bitterness of Pandemonium. He tried that once, or maybe twice, or quite a few times, if he really cared to remember.

Those with the heavenly form.

Those unbound by His ancient rules and borders and order.

He couldn't really remember when his obsession with Heaven began. Or freedom.

He couldn't remember when _he_ first captured his attention too. He couldn't remember how long he wanted to _taste_ him either. His fellow, a demon, a questioner. One of the few besides him who cast doubt on the order, the rules and boundaries.

Chrno.

He fascinated him, his faltering follower, with his hesitance and uncertain rebellion. He was different from the others...trusting. He could laugh at that: a trusting demon. When they first met, he'd said something was lacking in this way of existence, and Aion could not agree more. He doubted, however, that they were thinking the same thing. It hadn't taken him long to convince him to join his revolution, he was a bit eager, actually.

It was almost like swaying a confused child.

And maybe he was, a confused child, that is. His eyes were always a bit too brooding, too mournful, too _expressive_ to be demonic, a strange sort of angelic undertone in a demon's face. He was _fascinating_. His loyalty was even easier to secure. Even as he hesitated and questioned even the questioners, Aion could feel Chrno drawing to him, on the silken threads of _faith_ and his own fascination with him. And he had to say for himself, his own sharp-edged cunning and single-minded elegance was unique to him alone. Little wonder it had attracted the near antithesis of his person.

And maybe it was only _after_ tasting Chrno he developed his predilection for Heaven's flavor.

Yes. Taste.

It was still during the planning stage of great scheme, when bits and pieces of plan were still drifting and forming in his mind. He was trying to recruit one of his more potent fellows, Jeni, perhaps, or Veid. Chrno was doubting again, asking about freedom's many faces in his lyrical tone, questioning his leader's methods.

He's still too willing to follow, Aion thought to himself. Too compliant to take lead, too powerful to remain at the tail. And far too intriguing for me to allow him otherwise.

Sneering to himself, his own eyes narrowing in arch impatience, his fingers bent around the back of foolish fascinating fiend's neck and brought him to him.

_Forever to be doomed my little second. _

Chrno sputtered briefly, more shocked and confused, than (oh my, was that a blush?) angry. His fingers slithered forward around a slanted jaw, as they had done with countless others before, sliding down to caress his throat and then back up again. "Aion, wha-" he could feel Chrno's throat knot in a nervous swallow. "What are you-"

"I am going to taste you," he replied simply. His mouth pressed down on Chrno's flustered lips, stopping him in mid protest. _Mmm_... And then he was pushed back.

"What was that for?" the demon demanded, his own face flushed red to match the swollen slickness of his lip.

Aion smirked and licked his lips. Delicious. It was different, yes, than what he had expected, sweeter perhaps, if that word could be used. It was an elusive flavor, an elusive taste, one he was sure he was familiar with, if only in dreams. Addictive. And he wanted more.

"Again?"

A rhetorical question, of course; his intentions had nothing to do with the answer.

Chrno was a bit angry now. "You still haven't answered my -" He made him gasp this time, and delighted in doing so. His tongue had slid from between his lips, opting for a more direct extraction of the taste, and wet the slick, blush heated lips before kissing them. It was different this time, not only Chrno's reaction but the taste itself.

Even as Chrno's fingers were twining distractingly into his pale hair and his lips parting (albeit obediently) under his own, something was registering within his brain. Sweet, it was defiantly sweet. He closed his betraying eyes and shut out the gasping moans and tightening claws in his hair. Stardust, he experimented, touching his tongue to Chrno's. Starlight, he tried, withdrawing, forcing Chrno to follow into his own mouth to retain contact. Light. He teased the hot tongue squirming methodically in his mouth with his own. Holy – The taste registered. God sent, God chosen.

Damnit.

Chrno's hesitating move for dominance was cut short suddenly as Aion pulled himself back. "I'm sorry," came Chrno's immediate apology. "No good?"

_You're no true demon!_ Aion's mind demanded he scream. _You're tainted, impure, imperfect!_ Screw you, he answered back, and his mind's screeching subsided. He liked that taste, he wanted more, and besides, who really listened the cautioning little voice in the back of their heads anyways? He smirked again. "No..." he said, letting himself be drawn closer to the pressing body. He tore a small slit into the shoulder of Chrno's jacket and slowly ran the tip of his tongue across the taught skin beneath before Chrno groaned anxiously and began ripping the cloth himself. Aion smirked. "Just...different."

Different indeed, Aion grinned salaciously, thinking of all the delicious things he could do to find more of that taste. He was helping Chrno shrug off his now shredded clothing while suckling the delightfully soft skin near the base of his neck when he finally found the word he had subconsciously been searching for.

Faithful. Hope.

Heavenly.

_Mmm_. He pulled back licking his lips again, smiling. Chrno's half feigned look of hurt was quite tragic though. "What now?" Yes, he certainly was impatient. Aion provided no answer other than another grin and an unfailingly gentle (for him, anyways) nudge backwards. Chrno's look dissolved into a smile of his own when he realized the intermission had only been quite temporary. Now with Aion's _painfully_ clothed chest pressing down on his own and his mouth finding other distractions other than Chrno's lips to amuse himself with, Chrno forgot about the particular tang he had found upon Aion's thirsty lips. Bitter almost, sharp edged, two faced, vague. It was nice. That was all that mattered. His nails practically sliced through the pale expanse of skin in his franticness to expose it. Aion shuddered slightly (from the sudden heat, pain, his suddenly bold hands (or lips), Chrno didn't know) and nipped his ear, while murmuring some teasing warning about being careful into his hair. Chrno was far too preoccupied to reply intelligibly, having discovered the delights Aion's clothes kept hidden, and a sensuously contrite lick across a shallow cut was all the apology he received. Aion smiled.

Lovely.

**Expressions**

**(An Epilogue)**

He wasn't sure why he had done what he did. A lover's jealousy, perhaps (he had _seen_ him with her, _seen_ his half lidded response to her sweet, whispered words, even as he cursed his deceitful eyes), a vengeful anger (he had disobeyed him, no one disobeyed his word, no one), or maybe....

Maybe he felt something about what he did. He had, after all, buried his claws into the hard muscles of his lover's stomach, then torn the horns straight from his head. The viscid stickiness of blood remained on his hands and wouldn't go away, even though all traces of its crimson had been washed away. He watched him fall, with that little _bitch_ clinging onto the neck that only _he_ was suppose to touch, then without a word, turned away and waved his _loyal_ followers to follow.

He didn't care. Really, he didn't. Because he had even let him redeem himself (all he needed was to kill her, if he'd have just _killed_ her and none of this would have happened). The fool refused. But all he had ever been to him was his toy, right? His favorite plaything, for his interest in him had lasted longer than any other before. He should have been grateful with just that; not all of his kisses were given in earnest. But...he...

_He_ had _wanted_ him to care; he had _wanted_ something that he could never have been able to receive. Even as his own was freely given.

But he had gone to sleep that night, without a second thought about the demon that had shared his bed with him. He had even allowed the spider woman under his previously long occupied blanket, let her kiss his hands and face and beg him to kiss her back before curling up next to him disappointed but _properly_ thankful to having her lord allow her at his side.

In the gray hours before the morning, she had been expulsed, and he could hear her outside his door, whining piteously and weeping. Finally, she had left, brokenhearted, and he returned to his empty bed. But he couldn't sleep again; he didn't try that hard. Rolling onto his side (unconsciously staying on "his side" of the bed), he stared across his pillow at the vacant space beside him. The spider woman had been allowed on "his side" the previous night. For some reason, he didn't want her on the other side of the bed, the bed he knew was _his_ but had before now always been considered "_ours_". He wouldn't let her touch something that technically wasn't his.

The sun rose. It was going to be a beautiful day. A ray of hazy sunlight hit the pillow and he imagined a smooth brow furrowing, disturbed by the light. "Good morning," he whispered, bringing his hand up to the place where another head used to rest and stroked the emptiness where the dark hair used to lay. "Good morning, love. How did you sleep?" He waited for an answer as he buried his face in the pillow that wasn't really his. He could smell his own scent (so much from just one night?), along with the fading scent of the one who used to sleep there. He let its sweetness fill his mind, tried to engrave it in his memory as each breath came in and out, knowing that the smell grew fainter and fainter with each exhaling breath. He tried to recall the taste that had come with it, and the softness of the lips that delivered it to his waiting tongue and found that he couldn't.

He had never known that it could rain indoors.

End

Woot! Congratulations! I hail you who has a stronger stomach than me for bad writing!

Hello? Hello? HELLOOOOOO??? ANYONE THERE???? Crickets Sigh, didn't think so.

Oh well, here's the credits.

I'd like to thank my parents (for letting me on this computer, ya know, they're absolute _darlings_ for letting me do that!)

And my brother (for not finding this fic and squealing on me)

And my plumber (cuz who knows what'd we do without you)

And to various sources (who have been my inspiration to the creating of this piece of crap. You know who you are)

And my lawyer (who will defend me against those damn nazis who will bitch about "intellectual property" and shtuff even though I will READILY ADMIT THAT I DON'T OWN THIS SERIES OR ANYTHING EVEN REMOTELY ASSOCIATED WITH IT!!!) yeah, that's my disclaimer

And finally, to those unlikely souls who have made it this far.

Thank you, thank you all, and goodnight.


End file.
